


False Vertigo

by Tohias



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civilian Chuck, Falling In Love, Father/Son Incest, Hansencest - Freeform, M/M, Memory Bleed-Through, Parent/Child Incest, The Kaiju attacks never happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tohias/pseuds/Tohias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is a normal guy in a world where the Kaiju never attacked.</p><p>But sometimes he thinks he remembers being someone else. </p><p>Someone in battle gear made of sleek metal and filled with so much rage. But the memories can't be his. They can't be. Because fighting machine were in cartoons, sea monsters aren't real and there's no way in seven hells he's in love with Hercules Hansen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

False Vertigo  
Tohias

O

The first time it happened was when he was fifteen.

Chuck was mucking around with his mates after school, jumping trains from Strathfield station all the way to St James with cheap beers hidden in their school bags. They made sure to remove their school ties and blazers so no one could properly identify which school they belonged to, just in case some transit passenger decided to report them, because that was always a pain in the arse.

The train jerked to a stop at Circular Quay and one of Chuck’s friends bumped into his back, momentarily forcing him to press against the train window.

Suddenly the sounds in the carriage muted down to a low hum and the world slowed down to a pause.

Chuck’s eyes locked onto the scene outside the window and all he could see was capsized ferries, broken buildings and a world completely on fire. The placid water of Sydney harbor was replaced by churning, violent waves and the smell of _something_ acid-like scorched the inside of his nose. He saw the Harbour Bridge collapsed into two halves, the metal cords and beam of its framework were jutting out like broken bones of some great concrete carcass.

It only lasted for a moment and when Chuck blinked, it was all gone.

When he looked out the window again the harbor was a picturesque as ever – untouched, whole and postcard-perfect.

The train slowly left the station and moved on to the next destination, the watery harbor slipped away from his view, taking the unsettling vision of a broken Sydney from the back of his eye lids.

In the end Chuck decided that underage drinking at three-thirty in the afternoon was not a cool thing.

O

It happened again a year later.

It was 2019 and the release of the last Star Wars movie was something no one was missing out on.

The entire Hansen crew made a night out of it – even his nan and pop came along with their fan t-shirts and their prescription 3D glasses, more than happy to abuse their free pensioners movie tickets. Scott sat somewhere in the back row, probably mixing his bourbon with his coke where he thought no one could see. Chuck sat close to his mum with his little sister squeezed in between them.

The only person that wasn’t there was Hercules Hansen.

Chuck wasn’t surprised. His dad never had time for these things, not with his job and he made even less appearance at family outings since the divorce between him and his mum. His dad had said he’d be there but Chuck wasn’t holding his breath. His dad had a bad habit of making promises he couldn’t keep.

It was during the middle of the movie that Chuck started feeling _off._

The action sequences were awesome and the sound effects were gloriously loud but at some point Chuck started flinching away when spaceships exploded or when there was screeching metal booming through the cinema sound speakers reverberating around the dark room. Violent sounds bounced around in his head till Chuck had to leave his seat and escape into the hallway outside.

There was so much breaking and crashing and _screeching_.

_“We’ve been breached! Move, move, move!”_

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the flashes of clanging steel and hot metal out of his head, out of ears and out of his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

_“Chuck hold it off! To your left!”_

And there was that godawful screeching, inhuman and echoing seemingly from everywhere.

_“Chuck!”_

There was blue acid filling his mouth and pouring out of his eyes and out of his heart and he kept looking to his right, there was supposed to be someone on his right side. There was someone missing to his right –

_“Chuck!”_

Everything was pulsing blue, blue, blue –

“Charles!”

Chuck snapped his head up from between his knees, his eyes zoning onto a dark shirt and pair of dog tags handing around someone neck.

“Dad?” Chuck blinked up at the familiar face and had to shake off a weird double image of his dad merging together.

There was a small frown in Herc’s brow as he looked down at his son crouching against the wall in the middle of a cinema hallway.

“You alright there kid?”

Chuck dragged his body up against the wall and tried to hide the shaking in his hands the throbbing in his head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The older man knew his kid was bullshitting but he didn’t push. “Why aren’t you inside?”

Chuck cleared his throat and surreptitiously wiped the perspiration off his brow. “Nothing…just had to take a piss.”

Herc stared at him again but just nodded. “Right. Well, sorry I’m late, what did I miss?”

“Like half the movie.” He bit back. “You might as well not have come.”

Chuck responded a little more harshly than he intended but their relationship had digressed after his father had left their mum and distanced himself under the excuse of ‘work’. Sometimes Chuck couldn’t even tell what a RAAF pilot did that made them so damn busy.

His dad didn’t say anything and stepped back and turned to move inside.

“You coming?” the older man asked neutrally.

Chuck brushed past his dad and tried to steel himself for the booming sounds inside the dark theatre. “Yeah, let’s go.”

If he felt his dad watching him from the corner of his eye for the rest of movie, Chuck didn’t say anything.

O

Chuck graduated high school at the end of 2020.

The HSC exams raped his balls and his teachers and classmates got weirdly sentimental but it was a good year. Uncle Scott couldn’t make it since he was in rehab again but the rest of the family made a big deal out of his graduation. They all went for dinner at some Italian restaurant that his mum’s boyfriend co-owned which made it kinda awkward when dad showed up later but there was no drama for the rest of the night.

“She’s gotten bigger.” Herc mentioned to his mum while everyone was busy fussing over dessert.

Both his parents looked down at the five year old girl sitting on his mother’s lap. There was something briefly sad in his mum’s expression when she ran her fingers through the child’s brown curls.

“Yeah, she started Kindy this year.” Angela kissed his sister’s hair and gave a small smile. “She already knows all her numbers and letters.”

There was fleeting softness in Herc’s eyes as he gazed down at the child but it was gone as quickly as it came. “That’s good to hear.” Then he added quietly, as if he was speaking for just himself, “She looks like you.”

It wasn’t hard to see the gentle regret in his mum’s eyes as she looked at her ex-husband.

Enough of this Chuck thought.

“You guys getting some cake?” Chuck cut in, pretending he didn’t hear their conversation. “Nan’s eating everything, dunno where she’s putting it all.”

The night moved on.

Sometimes Chuck would find himself looking at his dad in his civvies and couldn’t help but think he’d looked…odd? Like the dark blue of his dress shirt didn’t quite fit him as well as a grey Henley, maybe even a brown vest. Then Chuck stabbed his cake with his fork because his thoughts were completely nuts and because vests were fucking lame.

Chuck didn’t think further on it.

O

Chuck doesn’t look out the window when he drives past the city. He never does now days.

He’d rather not watch the skyscrapers crumble in front of him, he doesn’t want to hear the blearing sound of a siren screaming in the air as bombs fall out of the sky, engulfing all he knows in a scorching bloom of fire.

Yeah, hallucinating is not a good thing when you’re driving.

O

At some point Chuck seriously contemplates telling his mum that he’s going crazy.

But his denial is stronger than his need for maternal comfort.

So he doesn’t.

O

Chuck doesn’t see his dad for months on end.

Its normal considering the man stopped living with them after the divorce years ago and his military job was unpredictable as best. Also their relationship hadn’t been good for years, more because of Chuck’s cold shoulder treatment than anything else, so yeah, Herc Hansen is a missing spot in his day to day life. It’s nothing knew, Chuck dealt with a partially absent father all his life. He was used to it.

So he couldn’t explain why he was glaring at his dad’s mobile number at ass-o’clock in the morning.

It was completely stupid. He’d been staring at the glowing screen for almost an hour without pressing the dial button as he struggled with whether he should call or not call.

“For fucks sake.”

Chuck threw his phone on the pile of clothes on the floor and slumped against his pillows, loathing his indecision and weakness but most of all he’s just embarrassed. He was embarrassed because he was an eighteen year old adult agonizing over the decision to call his dad because what? He _missed_ his father? Christ, he was worse than a desperate school girl.

Chuck rubbed his face.

He wasn’t child anymore. He didn’t need Hercules Hansen.

O

The next night Chuck wakes up screaming.

His legs are tangled in his sheets and his pillow is soaked with perspiration and it’s all he can do to crawl his way into the bathroom and throw up the Thai food he had only a few hours ago. Then Chuck just hangs his head under the shower for a good five minutes before he stops seeing blue. And it’s always blue. Not dull and dark. It was always vibrant and wondrously bright like live material, like radioactive water, like _acid_ and he can’t escape it.

It’s always pouring out of his mouth, his eyes, his nose and he just can’t _breathe._

He calls his dad this time.

He doesn’t even care that it’s two am in the morning or that the man probably won’t even pick up, Chuck just needs to hear the man’s voice with a kind of desperation he can’t explain. So he waits and waits and waits as the phone rings.

Then there’s a click and muffled sound appears on the other line.

“’Lo?” His dad voice is heavy with sleep.

Chucks finds he doesn’t know what to say because his dad’s voice made his entire body feel the most calm it’s been in…fuck he doesn’t even know…forever?

“Hello?” There’s the sound of rustling sheets like his dad is sitting up. “Chuck?” Now his voice sounds deep with confusion because why the hell would his son be calling him at this time of night?

Chuck clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then he hears:

“Herc? Who is it?”

It’s a woman’s voice.

Chuck’s non-existent words dry up like bitter raisins in his mouth.

“Hang on, I gotta take this.” Chuck hears his father say to whoever is warming his bed. There’s more shuffling and then his dad’s voice sounds clearer. “Chuck, is that you? Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment where he doesn’t know what to do except ignore the mortifying knot growing in his throat because there was no way in seven hells he was going to do something as lame as _cry._

So Chuck just hangs up.

O

Chuck knows his life is pretty normal.

Chuck knows that _he’s_ normal. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t be.

But he goes into the garage to grab the tool box because his mum wants him to fix the fly screen on their back door when Chuck is hit with the scent of oil and fuel and he can barely handle how much he _misses_ the smell.

It was _home_.

It was more home than the smell of his mum’s cooking and his sister laundry detergent and the unforgiving Australian sun baking the earth in high summer.

Chuck drops the tool box and he just leans against the old Ute, trying and failing at stopping his hands from shaking.

He closes his eyes and he thinks he can almost hear the sound of –

“Charles?”

He slowly opens his eyes and stares at his mother standing by the threshold of the door with dishing washing gloves up to her elbow. Her brow is creased with concern as she peers into the dark garage.

“Sorry,” he hates the way his voice cracks. “Dropped the tool box on my feet.”

“Do you want me to bring you an icepack?”

He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Nah, its fine. I’m just gonna go fix that door.”

Chuck all but runs out of the room and slams the door behind him. He doesn’t go back into the garage ever again because yeah, he’s feeling totally normal.

Except Chuck knows that’s a fucking lie.

.

.

.

NOTE: This idea came to me while I was attempting to shave my legs.

I was so taken with the concept of a Civilian-Chuck having second hand emotions and memories of Ranger-Chuck that I aborted my shower and jotted down notes before I forgot them.

Then I promptly changed (because writing naked is a little too adventurous for me), downed a glass of milk (we had no mango-pineapple juice left) and typed this entire chapter in one sitting (my bum is quite flat now).

So here we are: The first chapter of my new story and only one shaved leg.

Cheers

TOHIAS

P.S - Be a darling a leave a comment. They make me hysterically happy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 False Vertigo  
Tohias

O

 

Chuck had some understanding that the human mind was remarkably good at compartmentalising when it needed to.

Whenever he got weird flashes or moments of _déjà vu_ he couldn’t explain, Chuck would just let it wash over him, put the experience into a little box in the back of his brain and then move on. He didn’t overthink, didn’t over react and made sure his _episodes_ didn’t completely take over his life.

For the most part, it worked.

But other times Chuck could barely conceal the fact that his mind was revolting against him.

O

It was Christmas morning and that meant the Shatterdome was going to be a festive nightmare.

Chuck rolled out of bed and ducked into the shower to wash off the sweat he’d accumulated during the night, making sure it was quick because he had to go clean out his kit before breakfast. He slipped on his grey shirt and tried to find his army cargo pants but he couldn’t bloody find them anywhere. In the end he just pulled on some old jeans and laced up his timberland boots as quick as he could.

Before he left his room, he reached around his neck for his dog tags but found they were missing.

Frowning, Chuck turned back to his bed to see if they’d fallen off while he’d been sleeping but they weren’t on the floor, under his pillow or in his drawers. Chuck sighed and decided he’d look for them later. If he stayed any longer, he’d miss the bacon and that’ll mean he’ll have to wait another year for the next Christmas breakfast till the mess hall served actual good food again.

He made his way out of the winding corridor and step through the door –

“Chuck?”

The young man spun around at the sound the unexpected voice and blinked in confusion when a small girl in yellow pyjamas came around the corner.

“Chuck, where are you going?” asked the little girl.

Unsure what to say, Chuck just asked a question instead.

“What…are you doing here?”

With a wide yawn, the dark-haired child gave a sleepy reply. “I needed to pee.”

“…okay…good for you.” Chuck frowned again as something occurred to him. “You shouldn’t be walking around here by yourself? Do you need my help finding your mum?”

The child stopped rubbing her eyes and just looked up at Chuck like she wasn’t sure how to answer. Then she just said, “Mum’s sleeping.”

“Alright…maybe you should go back to sleep then.”

The dark-haired girl yawned again and nodded.

“Okay.”

Then she turned around a walked away.

Chuck blinked.

 _That was weird._ He debated whether he should’ve followed her and make sure the girl didn’t fall down a shaft somewhere but his stomach grumbled and Chuck figured she’d be alright, so pushing the strange meeting out of his mind, he turned the handle and stepped through the door.

Only to find himself standing on his front porch.

In Sydney.

Where there were no military mess halls and bacon being served on Christmas.

There was approximately three seconds of complete brain silence where nothing in his mind could compute anything he was seeing. Then Chuck stumbled back in the fly screen door and slumped onto the floor till he was sitting on his ass. He buried his face between his knees and started slowly counting backwards from a hundred till he felt he wasn’t going to have a full-blown panic attack.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Chuck chanted with his eyes screwed shut.

O

Chuck checks up on his little sister on his way back to his room and finds her sprawled spread eagle over her sheets.

He rubs his face as he closes her door and finds some small relief that she’s too young to have noticed her older brother acting stark raving mad.

O

When Chuck is back in his room and sitting on his bed, he finally notices that there are still stars in the sky.

He gives out a bleak laugh because it’s not the first time he’s woken up too early. It’s happened almost every morning for the past few weeks – he would wake _exactly_ at five am in the morning like his body absolutely refuses to sleep any longer and  it’s impossible to go back to sleep afterwards.

Chuck checks his watch to see what the time is but he ends up staring at his bare wrists because _of course_ he wouldn’t have his waterproof digital watch on him, because he never even had one in the first place, because nobody wears watches anymore because everyone checks the time on their cell phones instead.

He looks at the fogging glass in the bathroom where he’d taken a shower.

He glances at the open drawers where he’d searched around for his military cargos.

He stares at the tossed bedsheets where he’d unsuccessfully tried to locate his dog tags.

Chuck knows he hadn’t been sleep-walking and he also knows it wasn’t a dream either, instead it sort of felt like a combination of both. His stomach rumbles for the taste of bland food from a mess hall he can’t even recall properly and he glares at the weird way he ties his bootlaces in an ankle-wrap-around style he’s never seen before.

None of his flashes had ever been this tangible. This real. It scares him how little of reality he can trust anymore.

Chuck slumps back onto his bed and closes his eyes, trying his best not to let the gnawing feeling of doom overtake him.

O

It’s a nice day and the heat hadn’t reached critical yet so of course that meant outdoor Christmas barbecue.

Chuck spends most of the party lounging in his Nan’s hammock under the shade of a paperbark tree and stares listlessly at the children playing in the jumping castle as the adults sipped chilled beers around the grill. He doesn’t speak to anyone. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and the smell of lamb and grilled beef patties set his stomach on edge when usually he’s wolfing down everything.

His mum gives him worried glances now and then but Chuck ignores it in favour of staring at his phone.

There’s a word that hasn’t left his mind since the morning but he can’t quite remember what it is. It sits on the tip of his tongue and teases his mind as it flickers in and out of his thoughts. He thinks about it nearly all day till it’s time to open up presents and Chuck is so lost in his head that he doesn’t notice his dad standing right behind him.

He nearly yells out loud at the cold sensation of a beer bottle pressed to the nape of his neck. He doesn’t of course. But it’s a near thing.

Chuck rubs his chilled skin and turns to find his dad offering him a bottle of VB.

He frowns as he takes the beer and asks, “I thought you weren’t getting back till next week?”

Herc leans against beam of the back patio where they’re standing and replies, “I managed to leave early.”

“You’re bosses don’t have a problem with that?” Chuck manages to ask with making his tone sharp for once.

His dad shrugs and answers simply, “It’s Christmas.” Like it explains everything.

They don’t speak for a few more minutes and Chuck thinks it’s a miracle that they’re not fighting for once. Of course as soon as he thinks that, his dad has to go an open his mouth.

“You called me a few weeks ago.”

Chuck nearly spits out his beer because this is the last conversation he wants to have.

His dad continues like he doesn’t notice his son tensing up next to him. “You remember? It was in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

His dad shrugs again. “Just wondering if…you had something you wanted to say.”

Chuck wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and quickly says, “Nope.”

He can feel his dad watching him from the corner of his eye and Chuck just knows it’s that narrow gaze that Chuck had been subjected to every time he lied to his parents as a kid. When he was a child, that stare made him nervous because his dad had been impossible to lie to but as an adult it just makes him angry.

“You sure?” Herc asks again and the fact that his normally silent father is still talking means he probably won’t let it go.

Chuck stands up from the steps and glares at his father. “Yeah, ain’t got nothing to say.”

“That’s bull.”

And Chuck just wants to hit the man so bad his fingers itch.

“Like I’d want to talk to you while you were busy banging some whore.” Chuck spits out before he could stop his words.

He regrets it, but he kinda doesn’t.

Herc leans in close and Chuck can smell the beer on his breath and the sweat on his brow and Chuck thinks his dad might actually punch him this time. Chuck probably wouldn’t stop him if he tried.

They stand almost nose to nose till his dad suddenly moves away and sighs like he’s aged ten year in the last ten seconds.

“Just tell me what’s going on with you kid.” _What’s been going on with you for years_ , he hears in between the lines.

And Chuck can’t answer that.

He can’t answer that for _so_ many reasons, the biggest reason being that he doesn’t even fucking know himself.

“Why do you care?” He snaps. “You’re never here to fix things anyway.”

Herc sighs like this is old news and just says, “Chuck, you and I both know that’s not it. I get that you’re a teenager and shit like this is what you guys do but…you’ve been like this since you were twelve.”

 _Since the divorce_ , his dad manages not to say.

Chuck takes another swig out of his bottle and wishes they weren’t alone on this patio together having this conversation.

“What did you want to tell me when you rang me that night?” Herc asks one last time, like Chuck’s answer actually means something to him.

_I wanted to see you._

_I wanted to hear your voice._

_I wanted to tell you that I missed you to the point my hands were shaking._

Chuck looks at his dad and something must have shown on his face because his dad steps closer and almost, _almost_ reaches out to him.

But Chuck quickly moves away and turns his back on his father.

“Forget about it dad.”

O

That night when he’s lying in bed, Chuck finally remembers that word he couldn’t recall during the party.

He pulls out his phone in such a rush that he nearly drops it on the floor and quickly types the words into the search engine.

_SHATTERDOME_

He presses entre and scrolls through the results at such speed that he nearly goes cross-eyed. But after a few minutes of research Chuck finds nothing substantial on the strange word except that there was a Shatterdome stadium being built in Singapore for the 2024 world Olympics.

Other than that, there is nothing else.

O

A week later and its new year’s eve.

Chuck and three of his mates spend the night doing shots at seven different pubs in a row.

Bale is too shy to talk to girls so he ends up talking _at_ them like they’re a sign post or something. It’s hilarious because he’s a New Zealander that’s built like an AFL player and has a face like Jason Momoa but he’s completely incapable of talking to women.

Jamal just spends his time laughing at Bale and studiously tries to calculate how much he can drink before he gets alcohol poisoning.

And then there’s Vincent. Good old Vinny.

He’s a little Vietnamese guy with a face that wouldn’t know how to pull a serious expression if it killed him. He talks too fast and he’s jumps subjects like kangaroos jumps in front of cars – unsuspecting and traumatic. The ADHD is so apparent to anyone who looks at him that they feel universal pity for whoever Vinny’s parents are.

It’s Vinny however that manages to get the most numbers. Chuck doesn’t know why, he suspects no one really does.

But that’s life for you.

After Jamal throws up his liver on some poor unsuspecting sea gull, they all stumble their way to Darling Harbour and push their way through the throng of warm bodies to watch the light show.

Chuck has avoided the city for the last three years but as he stood pressed like sardines in Sydney Harbour with his mates stumbling into each other like they don’t even know what's up or down, he feels like everything will be okay – even though sometimes he flinches at the loud shell-drop sound of the fireworks going off around him.

Jamal gets distracted by jellyfish in the water and Bale holds him back from touching them while Vinny looks up at the sky with Chuck like the small guy want to _be_ the fireworks.

Shots of light fly into the sky and explode into blooms of stars and Chuck realises he’s not scared anymore…at least not like he used to. An odd sound escapes from his mouth. It starts like a giggle and then eventually devolves into honest to god laughter and Chuck doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed like that.

So Chuck throws his arms around his mates and watches the fireworks blaze the sky in kaleidoscopic colours.

It’s a new year and he resolves that he’s gonna be alright.

O

That night Chuck dreams of a warm body pressed close to his back.

He dreams about rough hands peeling his clothes away and sinking into his skin. He feels the rough burn of stubble rub against his inner thighs as he squeezes his legs tight. He dreams they’re moving together in perfect tandem, their naked bodies sliding and grinding in undulating push and pulls. He feels their dog tags tangle together as he scratches desperate lines down the other’s back, drawing blood and pleasure together with no division in between.

Chuck dreams that he is in love.

Not soft and delicate like he expects but burning and painful like his been skinned alive and left with his nerves raw and exposed.

And he dreams that afterwards, they stay together. Always together.

Even when the world catches fire and cities crumble and everything is acid blue.

They stay together.

O

They next morning Chuck wakes up crying.

And it’s not the quiet kind either.

There’s snot dribbling out of his nose, his eyes are swollen and he hiccups every time he tries to take a breath. It’s ungraceful and embarrassing and he hasn’t cried like that since he watched his pet rabbit die as a child.

He stumbles into the bathroom and vomits into the toilet bowl, dry heaving absolutely nothing except mortification and horror. And Chuck stays on his bathroom floor, cold and shaking because he can still feel phantom hands on his skin and kisses pressed into his neck and arms circling around him like protective barrier.

He can still feel it, all over him, relentless and heartbreakingly sincere.

O

Chuck understood that the human mind was remarkably good at compartmentalising when it needed to.

Whenever he got weird flashes or moments of _déjà vu_ he couldn’t explain, Chuck would just let it wash over him, put the experience into a little box in the back of his brain and then move on. He didn’t overthink, didn’t over react and made sure his _episodes_ didn’t completely take over his life.

For the most part, it worked.

But other times it didn’t.

Because now he can’t get up the bathroom floor because his legs won’t move and his body feels cold and somewhere in the back of his brain he’s still desperately trying to compartmentalise everything. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he’s gone into some kind of catatonic shock.

Because his dreams have never been like _this._

Because he was never supposed to dream about falling in love.

Because he was never supposed to dream about Hercules Hansen.

.

.

.

NOTE: The supporters of this story have me practically cross-eyed with unadulterated joy.

Thank you.

 ~TOHIAS


	3. Chapter 3

 

False Vertigo  
Tohias

O

 

Chuck thinks he does a good impression of a bear in hibernation.

He doesn’t leave his room and doesn’t talk to anyone for days till his mother smashes his door down with strength he _knows_ the woman shouldn’t have and drags him out of bed.

He then spends the rest of the week doing chores and fixing broken shit around the house under the scrutiny of his mum’s gaze. He sends his sister to school every morning and then buys groceries from Woolies after he takes out the garbage. The constant movement helps with keeping his mind off _other_ things but he never answers when his mum gives him worried looks over their breakfast table. He knows he’s been unusually silent but that’s because he doesn’t know what to say to her. Doesn’t know if he even wants to.

“You look tired Charlie.” He mum would tell him every night. “Get some sleep.”

Chuck would then nod, close his door and eye his bed like it’s something he needs to burn but then gives in and wraps himself in his doona.

But he doesn’t sleep.

Never sleeps.

And then morning comes and he does it all over again.

O

Chuck knows the moment Angela Hansen loses her concern and replaces it with irritation.

She doesn’t care much for a shut-in son that won’t talk to her so his mother strong-arms Chuck into going to a fundraising charity for a new something or rather he doesn’t care to remember. It’s in his area, it’s fancy and everyone is going out of necessity than want.

He eventually says yes but he has a condition that comes with his attendance.

“A charity?”

Bale raises his eyebrow like he’s not sure what it means.

Chuck bites into an overly ripe apple and shrugs.

“You’re coming with me.”

His friend is stretching his arms in his football shorts and a rugby ball between his feet.

“Seriously, a charity? Like…the kind we see on American TV shows, with fancy flower arrangements on little white tables and people serving champagne? That sort of thing?”

“Dude I don’t know, I never been to one of these things before. So are you in or are you out?”

Bale laughs, his Islander brown skin making his teeth look too white in the daylight.

“It’s going to be that boring huh?”

“Probably.” Chuck throws away the apple core into the dirt.

“Alright sure, why not?” Bale picks up the footie ball and tucks it under his arm. “Who else got roped in?”

“Vinny’s coming but Jamal has to study for his Uni test so he can’t make it.”

Bale scrunches his eyes at the full sunlight hitting his eyes.

“You know I’m kinda surprised you asked.”

Chuck doesn’t really understand the comment so he replies with a confused, “Huh?”

Bale scratches behind his ear and wipes the sweat off his brow with his jersey. “Well…you’ve kinda refused to come out for drinks the last two weeks.”

Chuck shrugs and looks at the oval they’re standing in, the grass more yellow than green.

“Haven’t felt like getting pissed off my face lately.”

“Since when?”

The question should sound confrontational but Bale has an uncanny ability to make everything he says sounds clinical and calm.

“Feelin’ a bit shit.”

“You alright?”

Yes.

No.

Chuck doesn’t bother telling his friend about the memories of naked skin, warm lips and cold promises whispered into his ear. How he suffocates from the sensation of endless touching and cold pacific water leaking into his lungs from dreams that felt more like night terrors. Too real, too real, too real.

Chuck reaches around his neck for dog tags that are never there.

“It’s nothing man, just needed some down time. Can’t do that while drowning in beer.”

Chuck doesn’t tell him he’s been drunk nearly every night in his room with the doors locked and his brain shut off.

Bale nods with good nature but continues on anyway.

“Figured as much but you haven’t actually talked to us face to face in all that time either. Jamal reckons you’ve been sick with diarrhoea and can’t move away from the loo. Although I think he might be drawing on his own disastrous experience with the runs.”

Chuck snorts. “It’s always the ass with that guy.”

Bale grins. “Vinny thinks you hate us.”

Chuck looks up at this.

“What?”

Bale shrugs and fishes out his water bottle from his bag. “The little guy almost worked himself into a bit of a panic last Tuesday.”

“Hang on, you guys don’t actually think that do you?”

“Vinny does.”

Chuck doesn’t have many absolutes in his world but his friends are one of them. They’re all fucking crazy. They make dubious life choices and have character flaws that read like a natural disaster but they make Chuck feel human, more than his family could sometimes.

ADHD Vinny who’s too innocent for a guy his age.

Womanizing Jamal with an IQ north of one-hundred-and-thirty.

And gentle giant Bale who’s built like a brick house but couldn’t watch a horror film without getting stress ulcers.

Chuck can’t remove them from his life any more than he is willing to remove one of his arms.

“Crazy Viet.” He mutters while rubbing his face.

Bale just looks at him with that all too knowing expression that Chuck sometimes resents.

“You know his entire family left him at age five with his grandmother. He’s kinda sensitive about abandonment.”

Chuck feels like the chewed out apple core he just threw into the dirt.

“Shit.”

“Look, the dude’s brain is like a pretzel, he’s probably forgotten about it. Besides you talked to him recently haven’t you?  He must’ve totally jumped at the opportunity to go out.”

Chuck remembers some kind babble on the phone when he called Vinny for the first time in a fortnight and yeah…the guy was _enthused_.

“Asked if he had to wear a tux.”

“Seriously?”

 “I said yes.”

“What?” Bale looks alarmed now. “Dude, you didn’t say this thing was a penguin suit event.”

“Mate I was lying. Its super casual, just don’t rock up in a potato sack and you’ll be gold.”

Bale relaxes but then suddenly burst out in uncontrollable laughing.

“God Vinny’s gonna be full decked out in his best outfit.”

O

Vinny rocks up to the charity in three piece suit and a pocket watch.

A pocket watch.

Bale smiles kindly but Chuck nearly chokes on his spit when he sees the little guy adjust his grey vest while balancing three appetizers in his other hand. Chuck makes up for his laughter by giving him a bro hug.

It’s not much of an apology but it’s all Chuck can manage for now.

O

Chuck doesn’t tell his friends that him sipping champagne in some rose garden is the first time he been properly outside in a long time.

He doesn’t know how to tell them that he doesn’t trust his actions anymore, that he doesn’t know what he’ll say to them, what he might do and risk flipping his shit because a car honked too loud or something equally lame. He doesn’t tell how much he doesn’t want to think about live wires, bloodied suits, metal carcasses and warm hands underneath his…

Chuck downs the champagne and then grabs another.

O

Jesus the girl is pretty.

Like proper gorgeous and Chuck takes almost too long to realise she’s staring at him from across the fairy light garden.

“Is she staring at me?” Chuck finally manages to ask after some lady has made a boring speech at the podium.

Bale shakes his head at Chuck like he doesn’t quite believe he said that.

“Mate,” The Kiwi grins at him “That leggy girl’s been eyeing you for the last _hour_.”

What?

“What?”

“Yeah man, she’s been trying to catch your eye but you keep brushin’ her off.”

“ _What_?”

Chuck’s knows he doesn’t look completely hideous and has enough game with the gals to have had a string of girlfriends in school. But he had to _work_ for it. They didn’t just fall in line when he grinned at them like those pretty assholes on TV. Chuck had to do a shit tonne to get laid and even more to keep a stable relationship.

Girls that wore real _pearls_ around their neck did not go for guys like Chuck.

Bale laughs and shakes his head.

“I dunno if you’re doing it on purpose but every time you don’t look at her she looks like she wants to jump you. You fucking sly dog.” His friend slaps him on the back. “Good job mate.”

She _is_ staring at him and he stands by his previous observation that the girl is possible the nicest thing in the entire event. There’s an almost-smile in the corner of her red lips as she catches his eye and Chuck almost wants to smile back. Coy but sweet. God she was his type too, the kind he chased relentlessly when he was in high school.

But then Chuck gets distracted by the sunlight glinting of the wine glasses and trails his eyes up to the crowd milling about the buffet and stops dead when he sees _him_.

His drink goes down the wrong tube and he struggles to maintain some dignity while coughing up his left lung.

It’s Herculeses Hansen.

He thinks it’s too dramatic to say it was a nightmare come to life but it was a _fucking nightmare come to life_. He doesn’t want to see the godforsaken man at all. It was the reason why Chuck had spent the last two week familiarising himself with a bottle of Jack just to drown out the repulsive sensation of his old man kissing the insides of his _thighs._

Chuck doesn’t miss a beat as he puts his wine glass down nearly smashing it on the floor and retreats out of the garden while his friend eyes him like he’s nuts.

“Wait, you’re not going to talk to her?” Bale asks him incredulously while watching Chuck powerwalk inside the building.

“Gotta take a piss.” He lies.

Chuck bolts inside and nearly knocks over a child in his haste to lock himself inside the bathroom.

O

He tells himself he’s not hiding.

And it works for the first fifteen minutes.

But then he begins to feel ridiculous and people start complaining that he’s hogging the stall so Chuck eventually leaves his piss smelling sanctuary and washes his face with handfuls of water to cool down. But cold water does nothing to temper the sensation of heat crawling up his neck and ice-chips prickling behind his eyeballs.

Almost.

He almost managed to forget.

To forget _everything_ and then _he_ shows up and Chuck feels like he’s choking all over again.

.

.

.

TBC


End file.
